


Passing in Tandem

by templemarker



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Also Foxtrot, Bitty is Team Mom, Costumes, Gen, Halloween, Haus Parties, The Haus and All Its Bros, Whiskey & Tango - Freeform, Whiskey is a Good Bro, egregious overuse of glitter, engineering students do not fuck around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker
Summary: When Whiskey has a totally sw'awesome idea for costumes at the Haus Halloween party, there's only one person he wants to do it with. But Whiskey's academic obligations take up a lot of his time. What's a liney to do?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kleinergruenerkaktus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleinergruenerkaktus/gifts).



> This story is canon compliant to 12/2016, and references [ this OMGCP post](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/151636351507). There's not a lot of canon information about Whiskey or Tango, and kleinergruenerkaktus was generous in encouraging the imagination to run wild. 
> 
> Though fic writing is slightly outside the pantheon of The Hockey Gods, I could feel historically leading goal-scorer Maurice Richard reflecting the glorious light of the trophy bearing his name over my google document, so thanks, Hockey Gods, for the flash of inspiration that resulted in seven thousand words of story written in three hours. 
> 
> With thanks to my personal ice crew for the three hundred texts exchanged after the December OMGCP update, the faint memory of a collegiate Red Bull debacle, and strategic clips of the Frozen Four last spring.

Tango was in Western Civ I when it came to him. 

He whipped his head to the left and hissed, "Whiskey! Whisk--"

"What, bro," Whiskey said, not taking his eyes off of the professor's powerpoint. Whiskey was really into Hildegard of Bingen; he spent the whole of last week's practice huffing out her life story to Tango as they ran skating drills. Dude's lung capacity was unreal. 

"I figured out our costumes for the Halloween party!" This was critical progress. All of the Frogs had had theirs locked for weeks, and most of the Tads were going with the classics -- ghost, vampire, zombie -- as hockey players. There had been a lot of puff paint involved in decorating the discarded jerseys from the clubhouse. 

Tango was not satisfied with that. He wanted to Do Halloween Better. Like Ransom and Holster -- totally awesome role models -- he wanted to bring his beauty game to this, and to do it with his partner. Who was definitely Whiskey, even if Whiskey sometimes had trouble seeing Tango's vision. 

"We can go as--" Tango continued excitedly.

"Maybe later, bro," Whiskey said, hunching over his notes and scribbling down something from the projector. "I'm concentrating."

Tango deflated. It's not like the powerpoint wouldn't be on the server later, and Professor Startvaard didn't go too far off what was in his presentation. And hockey shit was, like, so important. They were part of the team, and when the team did stuff, so should the Tads follow. 

He spent the rest of the class flipping his pencil around in his hand, occasionally stealing glances over at Whiskey, who, true to his word, was definitely concentrating on the lecture and taking a seriously ridiculous amount of notes. It was just a general studies class, it's not like you needed to more than pass to stay on the hockey team.

_/⚉\\_

It was a few days later, and Tango couldn't tell if Whiskey was actually dodging all his attempts to talk Halloween or if the bro really didn't care. Tango started feeling mopey -- all the other Tads had already figured out their costumes, or had teamed up with their liney or their girlfriend (or in Clucky's case, his queer non-binary romantic SSC kinky open poly primary relationship with his genderqueer casual significant other; that had taken like two weeks of practice to explain and Tango was pretty sure he was still missing like seventy percent of what their deal was).

Whiskey wasn't, like, absolutely essential to this process, but Whiskey had also avoided getting too involved with hockey team stuff outside of playing and practice. It wasn't like there was some rule or whatever that to be on the team you had to socialize outside of the clubhouse, but Samwell Hockey had a pretty big rep for being an off-ice team as much as an on-ice one. It's one of the main reasons Tango (then Anthony Haversham Tremontaine III) chose Samwell over Dartmouth or West Point. 

Hockey had always been Tango's social scene, better than all the society stuff his parents had to deal with, and knowing that he could meet the shortlist of acceptable colleges, play Division I hockey, and live far enough away from the family estate that his parents could talk about how well he was doing without having to show up to demonstrate how well he was doing made Samwell a slam dunk. 

Bitty christening him Tango was way better than Tremmy ever was as a nickname, anyway. 

Getting clumped into the liney trio with Whiskey and Foxy was so freakin' perfect that Tango vowed to keep all the nonsense from his family name from ever coming up in conversation, and just be the hockey bro he wanted to be. 

Tango didn't know a whole lot about Whiskey's deal -- no one did, really, because he was close-mouthed about everything not directly related to playing -- but it really bummed him out that Whiskey wasn't into being Tango's hockey bro. He wistfully looked at Holster and Ransom, Dex and Nursey (so entertaining!), Bitty and Lardo, and wanted that for himself. 

Clearly his bummer mood was obvious, because even before he'd finished dumping his stuff at the kitchen table in the Haus, Bitty slid a fresh biscuit with strawberry freezer jam and butter right under his nose. 

"Do you want some coffee with that, honey?" Bitty said, a sympathetic look on his face. 

Tango was so freaking grateful; he worshipped the flour Bitty baked with. "Um, can I have milk? Please? Would that be okay? Like, I don't do coffee after three because it's, you know, really hard to get to sleep and when we have practice at six--"

"No problem," Bitty said, grabbing the milk from the fridge and setting it down with a glass. 

Tango carefully ate his biscuit, catching the jam that melted off with his finger, while Bitty did whatever arcane kitchen magic was involved in volunteering to feed thirty hockey players every week. Bitty's phone was connected to the speaker on top of the fridge, and Tango was pretty sure Rihanna was Bitty's soundtrack of choice today. 

Just as he pushed away his plate and finished his milk, Bitty super-casually turned around with his mixing bowl and whisk and asked carefully, "So how are you doing, T? Anything going on you might want to talk about, or maybe not talk about, either is totally fine."

Tango suppressed a grin. Holster and Ransom were pretty great co-captains, but the big unspoken truth was that Bitty was the real authority on the team. Not that he ever undermined H & R, but there were certain issues that got subtly referred to Bitty, or things that clearly had to have Bitty involved to be approved. No one talked about it, and most of the team was pretty sure Bitty didn't even realize that he was, like, Team Gatekeeper, but it was the deal. Bitty underplaying his desire to get involved in stuff was totally a signal. 

"I'm fine, like, I guess? I'm just thinking a lot about the Halloween party."

Bitty raised an eyebrow, and the eyebrow said, _is that all?_ "Well, hon, it's just a party. Are you worried that you won't be able to come?"

Tango shook his head, kinda hard. "No! No, no, it's not that. It's, um, it's the costumes? Like, I have this totally sweet idea for a costume, but it doesn't work with just one person, and I guess I could just go as a hockey vampire or whatever, but that's so _boring_ \--"

"And you want to step it up?" Bitty asked. "What's the idea?"

Blushing a little, Tango said, "I kinda want to keep it to myself--is that cool? I can tell you if you really want to know--"

"No, that's fine, hon, keep it a secret if you want to. Then you get the big reveal at the party, right?"

Tango nodded really fast. 

Bitty started to pour his batter into a baking form. "So you can't find a partner, right? I don't think Whiskey has his figured out, the last I heard he was just going to wear the devil horns from the general Haus costume bin. Bless his heart, he is not the most imaginative young man, is he? I mean, you don't have to go all Antony and Cleopatra, but at the least he could join the rest of the Tads and be a Hockey Zombie or something, I know ya'll got excited and made extras of those jerseys."

It was a little easier to say stuff to the back of Bitty's head than his face. "Yeah, um, that's kind of the thing that has me bummed? I want to do my costume with Whiskey, he's my liney and a good bro. But every time I try to talk to him about the party he sort of blows me off. I don't know, maybe he has some childhood trick or treating trauma? I guess it would be fine if he just said he didn't want to do something, or even if he said he didn't want to go to the party, but instead he just keeps changing the subject. Or walking away without saying anything, that's what happened yesterday when we were getting froyo at the dining hall."

As Bitty shut the oven door, he turned around, looking kind of irritated. "Well, that's just rude as hell," he muttered. "I know that boy was raised better than that."

Tango didn't say anything about that. In his experience, most hockey players were an order of magnitude more dickish than even the most jerky of Samwell hockey players. Even at the first few practices, it became clear than bullshit and assholery would not be tolerated. Only gentle teasing was approved of, and even then it was really only okay if you were close to the bro you were messing with. Samwell's Code of Ethics was Serious Business. 

Foxy came in, his shit trailing behind him like a jet trail, coat on the floor next to the door, one shoe and then the next tossed in the living room, his sweater and backpack dropped in the doorway to the kitchen, hat barely managing to make it to the table, where he sat down next to Tango. "Bro!" he said cheerfully, clapping Tango on the back. "I didn't see you at study group, what's up, man?"

Bitty slid another biscuit in front of Foxy, who immediately mowed it down. "Oh, I asked Tango to spend the afternoon with me," he said, winking at Tango. "I wanted some feedback on the freezer jam. What do you think?"

"It's faan swas, braa," Foxy said, mouth completely full. Bitty grinned at him. 

"Yeah, Bitty, it was the best yet," Tango said loyally, thankful that Bitty drew attention off him. Foxy was a gossipy bitch and liked to know everything about everyone all the time. 

"Well, thanks, boys," Bitty said, beaming. "I added a little balsamic vinegar, you can't really taste it, but it enhances the sugar..." and then the next hour was lost to Bitty wizardry.

_/⚉\\_

The next day, when Tango arrived his customary twenty minutes early to Western Civ -- otherwise someone would totally swipe his preferred seat next to the aisle and the outlet near the door that shut completely silently when Tango slipped out for corn nuts or the bathroom halfway through -- Whiskey came in shortly after and sat down next to him, instead of in the next row down where he usually was.

"Hey," Whiskey said. 

"Hey," Tango said, surprised. Whiskey usually arrived just before class started, running from his philosophy club lunch meeting, which Tango knew was the highlight of his week. It was weird that he would ever leave it early; maybe the meeting was cancelled? 

"So you want to do a costume thing for the Haus party," Whiskey said bluntly, and Tango sat up straight and tried to will away his blush. Bitty! Bitty did this, he knew it, even though he hadn't asked for an intervention or whatever. 

"Um, yes? Yes, I have this idea--"

"Okay," Whiskey said, pulling out his folder and notebook -- it was really weird that he never even brought his computer to class -- "I'll do it with you, but under one condition."

Suppressing a gasp, Tango nodded furiously. "Yes, cool, whatever!"

Whiskey looked over, directly at Tango. "I don't want to spend a bunch of time on it, and I hadn't planned on staying at the party more than an hour or two. I have a big presentation for the debate team on Monday and I need to prep for that, so I'm not going to get wasted or whatever, especially because we also have mandatory cardio that morning too. So, I'm willing to do it, but I can only make about an hour before the party work, and then only a couple of hours there. Does that work for you?"

Tango was caught between elation and bummeration. Yes, it was swawesome that Whiskey would do the costume, but totally a bummer than he wasn't going to make it an epic night of revelry and drunkenness, on the High Holy Night of Tomfoolery. Pushing down his disappointment, he put a bright smile on his face and said, "Totally, yes, that is great. Um. Do you want to meet up to talk about it? Like, before the party? Or--"

"I can't. There's a lecture on German Existentialism that the history and philosophy departments are putting on, and I agreed to volunteer." Whiskey ordered his papers as other students started to trickle in, not looking up. 

"Oh. Um. Okay! Well, if you want to come to my dorm before the party, I'll have it ready then," he said, opening his own computer to take notes and play sudoku during the class. 

"Sounds good," Whiskey said, and then Startvaard walked in and Tango knew that was it for talking.

_/⚉\\_

Tango had been half-heartedly putting the costumes together, figuring he could maybe use them next year if nothing else, so all it took was an all-nighter and six Red Bulls to put everything together. He was still buzzing at practice, enough that Coach Murray was praising him for his energy during suicides, but by the time he sat down in his stall he only managed to remove his sweater, shoulder pads, and elbow pads before he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes.

It definitely had not been long enough when a hand shook him, and muzzily he opened his eyes to see Whiskey looking at him, street clothes on and hair wet, with his head tilted. 

"T," he said, "bro, you're the last one here. Your muscles are going to get locked up if you don't get your kit off and move."

"Oh, right," Tango said, scrubbing at his face with one hand and looking down at his skates, trying to remember how to untie them. His fingers felt like sausages, and he winced as he flexed them -- they'd gotten swollen from lack of movement, and it would take like ten minutes to work them enough that he could deal with the straps and ties of everything.

"Okay, stop," Whiskey said, crouching down as Tango ineffectually tried to grasp his laces. He picked out the double knot and tugged against the eyeholes, grabbing the blade guards from the shelf and fitting them on before tugging the first skate from Tango's feet. He didn't even wince at the smell, Tango noted, too exhausted to even be surprised at what was happening. 

"Don't you have, like...Calculus? Or something?" Tango hazarded a guess from the vague thought that floated through.

Whiskey grunted as he pulled off the other skate, putting the deodorizer packets in each one before carefully placing them in the stall. "It's the optional lab," he said, working off the shin pads. "I already did the coursework up to Friday, and my notes are prepped for the exam. I can miss the lab."

"Oh," Tango said, a little shocked; Whiskey never skipped, even the optional stuff. He was taking four classes plus an evening no-credit seminar, in addition to hockey practice and games. He had a 4.0 GPA after midterms, which was why the team didn't hassle him too hard about the social stuff, knowing he was committed to keeping his academic scholarship. "Um, thanks, man. I would have woken up eventually, you didn't have to skip."

Whiskey gave him a pointed look. "Dude, you didn't even hear all the chirps," he said. "You were dead to the world, T, Bitty was going to stick around but his soc class is right after practice, so I offered. It's not a big deal. Lift your foot," he instructed, and freed the left sock from the garter, tugging it down and tossing it into the laundry.

Tango could feel himself flushing -- it was definitely a big deal, no matter how Whiskey tried to play it off -- but didn't protest. All that was left was his wicking gear and his pants, and when Whiskey offered his hand to haul Tango up, he took it, and let himself be tugged towards the showers. 

"I think you're going to need to shower in in your Under Armor," Whiskey said, critically eyeing Tango's swollen feet and hands. "Just until you warm up enough. Throw your pants on the bench, I'll grab your street clothes, and you can toss out your UA when you can. I'll drop this stuff in the laundry. I'm going to wait on the bench, call if you get a stitch or a cramp, okay?"

"Okay," Tango managed, hobbling to the shower. Definitely no more Red Bull nights when there was practice the next morning. 

With the shower turned on really hot, it wasn't long before his muscles started to relax from the death grip of lactic acid. Tango knew he was making stupid noises as he relaxed, but Whiskey didn't even chirp him. When Tango peeled out of his kit, he saw Whiskey reading one of his class books on the bench, highlighter clamped in his teeth, pen tucked above his ear, leaning against the wall like he was in the library instead of the shower room. Tango felt a smile steal over his face, as he tossed the wet clothes on the towel Whiskey had laid out. 

It wasn't that he'd thought Whiskey didn't care, from a liney or teammate or even just a bro perspective. He'd been clear about his priorities even from the spring orientation tour: academics, hockey team, debate team, social life, in that order. Super goal-oriented. And the first two took up almost his entire schedule that he hadn't even been called on missing Haus parties or hockey socials during k-court. Captain Ransom had even gone so far as to point Whiskey out in front of the whole team, as everyone was ponying up their tens and twenties for the many, varied, and inventive infractions, and saying: "This boy, this _Player Whiskey,_ let him be your role model, amphibiously named lower classmen! Academics mean you stay on the team, and that you don't get your underachieving ass punted to JV! Academics mean you won't be subject to concerned meetings from the coaching staff and tearful phone calls to mommy! _Go to class and do not skip._ ”

Then again, Ransom was also a crazy pre-med overachiever, and Tango had carefully looked at Holster's indulgent expression as a guide for how serious business the whole semester grades thing was.

Turning off the water, Tango found a couple of towels waiting for him on the hook outside the stall, and a stack of sweats and his kicks folded on the bench where he'd thrown his wet clothes. He stretched out as he pulled them on -- he could always grab street clothes back at the dorm -- and wandered out to find Whiskey zipping up his duffel next to Whiskey's own. 

"Good, you're done," Whiskey said, running his eyes over Tango's body, checking for inflammation. Tango was really glad he was already flushed from the shower. "We should do some cardio, light jogging for fifteen or twenty so you can properly cool down," he said, grabbing the towels from Tango's hand and tossing them in the laundry bin while putting an ice cold yellow Gatorade in his hand. 

Tango trailed after him, pausing to wave at Coach Murray, who was nursing his coffee and doing paperwork in the kitchenette attached to the weight room. Coach just raised his eyes -- _you're still here?_ \-- and Tango shrugged, nodding in the direction of Whiskey, waving again as Coach just shook his head and laughed. The coaches loved Whiskey's dedication, and most of the Tads had a soft bet going as to whether Whiskey would be offered the A for sophomore year. 

Whiskey set up his own machine, and then programmed Tango's as he hopped on. The target was 120 BPM, and they maintained for ten minutes, then gradually slowed down until they were only walking briskly. Tango felt a lot better, finishing off his Gatorade with one big swallow and following Whiskey to the kitchenette, slumping against the counter until Whiskey put three pieces of peanut butter and banana toast (made, of course, with Bitty's whole wheat seeded sprouted extra protein bread) and pointed at the table a few spots over from Coach, who was looking like he was trying to hide a grin.

As Tango ate slowly, under Whiskey's watchful eye, Whiskey chatted with Coach Murray about the upcoming game with Yale and Chowder and the Aces’ goaltending stats. He could feel the exhaustion creeping on him again, and only stuffed the last bite in his mouth after Whiskey shook him out of his doze, head falling off the palm of his hand. 

"Okay," Whiskey said, determined. "Time for you to go back to the dorm and crash."

"I can't," Tango said mournfully. "I have a meeting with my advisor at 10:30 and Nano Intro at 2. If I crash I won't get up in time."

Whiskey pulled Tango's phone from his hoodie pocket. "I already emailed Professor O'Hern and rescheduled your advisor meeting; he's got you booked for Friday at three after Western Civ," he said. "And I texted Hainey about notes for Nano -- do not say a single word about lacrosse players -- and he said he'd email them to you if you don't make it to class. If you crash now, you can wake up by 1 and have at least five hours of sleep."

Tango blinked. That was too much information. It seemed like Whiskey had basically figured stuff out, so he only nodded, and followed Whiskey obediently, throwing his duffle over his shoulders, and heading towards the dorm. He could feel himself starting to list off the sidewalk part of the way there, and he was tugged back by Whiskey, who threaded an arm around his shoulders and kept them going towards the door. Tango didn't even notice how they got back to the room -- Whiskey must have grabbed his keycard and room key -- before his duffel and jacket were tugged from him, and he was maneuvered to his bed. God, bed was amazing. 

Something jostled his shoulder, and he opened his bleary eyes to see Whiskey crouched in front of him, waving his phone. "I set your alarm for one, with that Carrot Alarm so it will be intense about waking you up. I checked and there's a Hot Pocket in your fridge so you can eat when you get up, you seriously need to talk to the nutritionist. I set another alarm for seven, just on the clock, in case you decide to crash instead of going to class. Hainey said he'd email you the notes right after class if you miss it, and I scheduled a delivery from the Thai place at 8, with tofu, chicken, and extra vegetables because you clearly need the protein. I am going to FaceTime you at 7:30 to make sure you are up and everything was covered, and your schedule says you don't need to be anywhere tomorrow until noon at the Haus party planning meeting, because the morning is optional skate. You can crash again after we talk and you eat, just remember that you have your online lecture module deadline by Friday if you don't go to Nano in the afternoon. I put an alert on your calendar to make sure."

Tango just blinked. 

Whiskey tugged off Tango's sneakers and pulled the comforter up over Tango's shoulders. "If I don't hear from you when I FaceTime, I can swing by after debate practice to check in. We can do some more stretching to make sure you didn't fuck something up this morning. Otherwise, I'll see you Friday for Western Civ -- don't forget about the response paper -- and I'll come by at seven for the costumes before the Halloween party."

With that, he patted Tango's head, grabbed his duffle, and locked the door behind him. Tango heard the soft clink of the key being slid under the door as he dropped off, thinking that the sheet he'd thrown over the costumes to protect the glitter meant that Whiskey hadn't even seen what he'd stayed up to work on at all.

_/⚉\\_

Tango was putting the finishing touches on the costumes when he got a text from Whiskey saying that he was downstairs. Tango ran a last eye over the costumes, pleased with how they turned out, and headed down to the lobby to sign Whiskey in.

Tango had tried to thank Whiskey for taking care of him at Civ class that morning, but Whiskey shook it off and said, "You're my liney, T, and a friend. This is what friends do for one another." Privately, Tango thought it went above the call even for the notoriously involved antics of the Samwell Varsity Hockey Team, but Whiskey wouldn't hear of it. He confirmed that he'd be by before the party, and then, as usual, focused entirely on the seriously not that interesting lecture from Startvaard. 

Whiskey was patiently waiting, listening to Jessica H. tell Jessica R. all about the problems inherent in a post-capitalist structural economy, and headed over to offer his student ID for the sign-in computer. He was wearing a black shirt and black jeans like Tango had asked him to do, jacket tucked over his arm. Tango tried not to be nervous -- Whiskey had never asked what they were going to go as, and didn't know how much effort Tango had put into constructing the costumes -- so Tango was hoping it would be a good surprise instead of a "what did I get myself into" cluster. 

When he'd texted a picture of the finished costumed to Foxy (sworn to secrecy), Foxy had replied back with a whole bunch of exclamation points (and a few 1's) and a clearly excited "THAT'S SWAWESOME BRO RANS AND HOLSTER ARE GONNA LOSE IT" followed by a half-blurry shot of their co-captains dancing around the Haus kitchen in matching superhero costumes feeding each other what looked a great deal like jello shots. So, like, Tango was pretty sure he nailed it, but Whiskey's opinion was by far the most important one of all. 

They got into the room, speculating about who Ransom and Holster were supposed to be, and when the door clicked behind them, Tango turned to see Whiskey looking expectant. "So show me what you wanted to go as so much," he said, and Tango let the flutter of nerves roll through him before pulling the sheet back with determination. 

There was a moment of silence, Tango watching Whiskey's eyes widen and breathe, "Whoa." He tugged the sheet behind him and tangled it in his fingers. It wasn't like getting more glitter on his hands was really a problem. 

Whiskey turned to him, eyebrow raised. "How much time did you spend on this, T?" he asked. 

"Uh, well, I've been working on it on and off for like a month? Just, like, in case you--someone--if someone wanted to do it with me. And then I, um, that all-nighter I pulled got it almost done, and I put this finishing touches on it after Civ class, I almost ate like a tablespoon of glitter when some fell into my ramen, which, super gross. But it's cool if you aren't into it, I know we didn't get to talk about it before--"

Whiskey held up a quelling hand, his mouth quirked up in a grin. "This is very impressive," he said, and Tango wanted to breathe out, like, weeks of relief and also maybe put his hand to his chest because, wow, yeah, it was so swawesome to hear that from Mr Successful McOverachiever. 

"Thanks," he kind of whispered, turning to throw the sheet into the corner with all the other glittery, paint-splattered rags. When he turned back, Whiskey had a thoughtful look on his face. 

"I should have listened when you were trying to tell me about this," Whiskey said. "I'm sorry for not paying attention when this was so important to you. It was shitty of me, because I didn't think it was important when it clearly was. I'm sorry, T."

"Oh," Tango said, "oh, um. Thanks for the apology? But it's okay, I know you're always busy with classes and stuff, I just didn't really want to do it with anyone--but it's fine, you're here now! Which, thank you, I know you're not into the socials and stuff, it means a lot."

Whiskey smiled, and shook his head, like he did sometimes in debate when he wasn't getting his point across effectively. "But they're important to you," he countered, "and I know I haven't been a very present Tad, and everyone has let me get away with that. But lineys should support each other, Tango. I'll do better in the future."

Tango was at a loss. "Thank you?" he said. Whiskey seriously didn't need to apologize, but it felt worse to push back instead of accepting his heartfelt apology. 

Before things got too awkward, he started explaining the costumes and how to wear it. He got Whiskey to laugh telling him about using the Mech lab to construct parts of it, and how the lab's TA caught him between scheduled use period and was so into it she helped him finish it off. 

"Melia's a good bro," Tango said happily, helping Whiskey into the lower part of the costume. "We're going to have to carry the chest pieces, otherwise we won't fit in the elevator, but they're pretty easy to walk in. Foxy's sister is working the party carts tonight, she got her whole sorority to volunteer -- she's, like, too intimidating to say no too, I guess -- and she said she'd be doing a drop-off here in half an hour and would take us to the Haus on her way back to her next round." 

"Yeah, Hypatia's one of the top senior debaters, she's been giving me some pointers on my argument structure during practice," Whiskey said, voice muffled a little as he adjusted the straps at his waist. "She started Take Back the Night as a fresher with Henry Chang, when they were in Gender Studies 101."

"Isn't that the guy Clucky's girlf--I mean, non-binary primary significant other!--hangs out with all the time? He's on the LAX team!" Tango said. How could any person related to Foxy hang out with a LAX bro? 

"Yeah," Whiskey said, carefully bending over to help Tango into the costume. "When he transitioned, Marguerite helped him through it, and she brought the whole GSA and the Student Congress to support his first game. They're pretty tight."

"But he's a LAX bro!" Tango protested, even as Whiskey rolled his eyes. 

"They're mostly only assholes when the hockey team are assholes back," Whiskey said. "It's just a sport, T, it's not like the players aren't involved in other shit at school. I know you've studied with Hainey a couple of times, you can't be total assholes through that."

"It's our detente!" Tango said, but Whiskey stepped back, holding the chest piece in front of him, and said, "How do I look?"

Tango was pretty sure hearts had spontaneously exploded from his eyes. "Oh my god it looks so good," he said in a rush. "I only tried it on once to make sure the pieces fit together, but it looks _so much better_ on you, YES!" He pumped his fist twice in the air. 

Whiskey grinned and shook his head. "This is all on you, liney," he said. "You did such a good job. No wonder you're in engineering."

Tango beamed at him. "Thank you! Oh my god it's going to look _so cool_ when we walk in together, I can't wait!"

_/⚉\\_

After Hyp had dropped them off between the Haus and the Alpha Theta house, stopping a couple of times to pick someone up or let Tango and Whiskey hop off the back of the golf cart to pose for pictures, Tango looked them both over and made sure everything was in place.

"Perfect," he said after he slightly adjusted Whiskey's shoulder piece. "This is perfect."

Whiskey knocked his fist gently against Tango's jaw -- the only place not covered in the costume -- and said, "Yeah, we are." Fortunately they were already worked up from the short walk, because Tango felt his face heating up. 

"Oh my god let's go," he said eagerly, wishing he could bounce on his toes a little, except for the restriction of the costume. 

Carefully they walked up the front of the Haus, waving at people who shouted at them from the yard, and each of them had to turn sideways and enter one at a time through the Haus' open door. Once Tango stepped up next to Whiskey in the space that had automatically cleared to accommodate the bulk of their costume, Tango looked around for Foxy or Bitty. 

Then the music stopped. And Holster stepped up in front of them, smiling so big that it almost touched his goggles, and pointed at them both. 

"Anthony Haversham Tremontaine!" he shouted. Ransom stepped up next to him, nodding his head in approval, and stage-whispered, "The Third." Holster turned to Whiskey, and shouted just as loud, "Rodrigo Matías Sebastián Alvarez y Wiznewsky!"

Tango turned to Whiskey. "Dude, that's your name? Whoa."

"How did you know my full name?" Whiskey asked suspiciously. 

Ransom laughed. "It's on the roster, bro. Holster memorized all the Taddys’ proper names."

"And it only took ten days," Holster said smugly. "ANYWAY. You fuckin' beauts. You saw the bar for Halloween costumes, laughed in its face, blew it up, and ran past it. You deserve rewards. FOXY!" he yelled, and Foxy ducked his head around the kitchen doorway. 

"You bellowed, boss?" Foxy said, the chill of probably a lot of jello shots upon him. 

"Bring our honored Taddys their ceremonial jello shots!"

"The blue kind," Tango shouted as Foxy ducked back in the kitchen. 

Holster stepped up, gently grasping them both by the shoulder pieces. "You have outdone your captains, freshers," he said seriously. "We are impressed, are we not, Ransom?"

"Yeah, H, we definitely are," Ransom said, laughing. 

It was Bitty who came out with their shots, bringing them up and then carefully tipping one each into their mouths when it became clear that they definitely didn't have the arm rotation necessary for such a delicate operation. Whiskey rolled his eyes but did it even though Tango knew he wasn't planning on drinking tonight. Bitty tossed the cups onto the already littered coffee table, and brought his hand to his mouth. 

"Oh my lord," he said. "You boys look amazing. Tango, you are so talented, I cannot _believe_ how much work you put into this!"

"Yeah," Whiskey said, and Tango looked at him in surprise. "My liney had a vision, and he nailed it. I'm just here as the appropriate set decoration," he grinned.

"No, no--" Tango protested, but he was cut off as the music blared back and everyone started to dance again. Ransom and Holster grinned, dancing away towards the bar, and Bitty ducked close to Tango's ear and said, "Tango, honey, you did such a great job, I'm so proud of you!"

Tango blushed a little at the praise, but he bent down to reply, "And, um, thank you? For whatever you said to Whiskey. I, like, I know you probably talked to him after biscuit day, and you totally didn't have to, but I appreciate it and he was really...cool about the whole thing."

When he pulled back, Bitty was smiling, pleased. Tango actually took in Bitty's costume at that point, and blurted, "Um, wow, Bits! Those are some, ah--I didn't know they made shorts that short!"

Bitty started to turn red up to his bunny whiskers, and Whiskey shook Tango a little, rolling his eyes again. "You look great, Bits!" Whiskey shouted over the music, and Bitty turned redder, squeaked out, "Thank you! I'm just gonna--" and practically hopped back to the kitchen. 

Tango turned to Whiskey. "What?" he asked. "They were like booty shorts!"

Whiskey just shook his head, laughing. "That's kind of the point, T." He looked around, noting that space was still cleared around them for the bulk of their costumes. "So!" he said loudly, as close as he could get to Tango, which was not very. "I think the only dancing we can do in these costumes is the Robot! You in?" He gestured at the floor. 

"Oh my god I LOVE THE ROBOT," he shouted, which was probably obvious given the nature of the costumes he designed. Whiskey laughed, and they took the open spot, moving as much as they were able to do so, narrowly missing hitting each other with their arm pieces as they danced.

_/⚉\\_

Around ten, Tango caught the clock and looked over expectantly at Whiskey, but Whiskey shook his head and waved over the women's hockey team, who had wanted pictures all night along with, like, everyone at the party. The captain, Dian, wanted to know all about the process of designing the joint fittings -- she was in biomech and was doing her senior thesis on exoskeletons -- and between that, the d-line volunteering to feed them more jello shots, and Chowder making a playlist of a dozen robot-themed jams that demanded their presence, it was one in the morning before Whiskey started to flag.

Lardo called over Marguerite, who was about to go on her party cart shift, and they waited outside for her to roll up for a ride back. 

"Bro," Tango said very seriously and very drunkenly, "you have been the best bro tonight. You totally didn't have to stay, I'm sure I could store the pieces here at the Haus."

"T," Whiskey said, clearly tired and also pretty drunk, "it was totally worth it. I'm glad I got to be a part of your vision."

"Bro," Tango said, incredibly touched. "There was no one else I wanted to wear that costume. I built it for you."

Whiskey turned, surprise in his eyes and then a flicker of regret. "You did?" he said. "Man, Tony. I'm fucking sorry I didn't pay attention. I'll do better, I promise. I'll be a better friend."

Tango, a little shocked that Whiskey had used his non-hockey name, and also warm with it, replied, "'Rigo, you're my liney. You're like my partner. You don't have to do better. Just keep being my friend."

Whiskey closed his eyes, shook his head a little, and smiled. "You're my friend too, Tony. Thank you."

"Thank you," Tango whispered, just as Marguerite pulled up at the curb. She'd stuffed her Space Oddity Bowie wig and jacket into her enormous purse (which had its own seat) and helped them to sit in the rear seats without damaging their costumes. 

"You totally won Halloween, kids," she said, patting Tango on the head. "Nice job. Max was texting Henry about it all night." 

"Swawesome," Tango mumbled. He was pretty sure Max was Clucky, but not 100% sure. 

As they drove across campus, slumping further as the drunk settled in, Whiskey settled on Tango's bulk and said, "Can I crash at your dorm, Tony? I'm too drunk to drive back to my apartment," he said. "Wow, I can't believe I got drunk tonight. Dian is going to tear me apart in debate practice."

Tango wanted to feel bad that he'd caused Whiskey to mess up his plans, but he felt too good under the glow of liney friendship. "Of course, bro. My single is your single."

The only part of them not covered by welded metal was their hands, in matching gloves, and it felt totally natural when Whiskey took his hand, threading their fingers, as Marguerite kept a running commentary on the commodification of women's bodies vis-à-vis the proliferation of "sexy" profession costumes in the dark autumn night.


End file.
